


The Blood Fever

by blackchaps



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Pon Farr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-04-01
Updated: 2004-04-01
Packaged: 2020-07-09 06:15:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19882963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackchaps/pseuds/blackchaps
Summary: A slightly different pon farr story...





	The Blood Fever

McCoy looked over the medical report and chewed his lower lip. These results seemed on the up and up, but something wasn’t quite right. All these fancy instruments insisted everything was fine. He didn’t think so.

Spock’s metabolism had stabilized to normal. No sign of the pon farr remained. It had taken the threat of a court martial, but McCoy had given him a complete physical. Comparing the results against Spock’s baseline had given him the answers he’d hoped to see. The pointy-eared Vulcan was fine. Insufferable, as usual, and fine. Completely.

Jim Kirk’s body had taken quite a beating. McCoy reviewed the bruises, contusions, and minor injuries. Jim had suffered no ill effects from the drug McCoy had slipped him, and again, everything was within normal parameters. McCoy sipped his brandy and tossed the pads aside. There wasn’t a problem. Right?

********

McCoy jerked instantly awake when the intercom came on. He reached, flipped, and grumbled, “Yeah, whacha need?”

“Bones, I have a …”

Jim’s voice trailed off and the intercom closed. McCoy moved through the ship as fast as his old country doctor’s body could go. His grip on the medikit was tight. What the hell was going on? He let himself in Jim’s quarters and stopped. He was a doctor. He wasn’t shocked.

“I need someone or something …”

Jim’s voice rasped down McCoy’s spine. McCoy forced his body to the bed and Jim’s side. “Jim, Jim, what’s wrong?”

Jim’s naked, writhing body reached for him, grasping, gripping, rubbing, and moaning. McCoy ripped his eyes away from Jim’s erection. It was dripping. McCoy’s doctor brain began to function again. This wasn’t right. Jim was almost unconscious from fatigue, and yet he was crying out for sex. McCoy reached for his medical tricorder, scanned Jim’s body, and put a hand on Jim’s sweaty forehead. Jim pushed him away roughly.

“Your hands aren’t the right ones. Go away. I need …”

McCoy was starting to get irritated. A fierce hard-on was no reason to be rude. He scanned Jim and ignored the hands clenched in the bed sheets. And the groaning. And the sheen of sweat glistening on Jim’s body. His vital signs were all elevated. Of course. His systemic results were a little more alarming. Testosterone levels were high. Lord, they couldn’t get any higher. Even his estrogen levels were up, too high for a man. McCoy pushed Jim’s reaching hand away and gave him a hypospray. Adrenaline levels, again, too high. This kind of stress could lead to a coronary incident.

“God, please, I have to …”

Jim’s hand stroked his penis hard and fast. He thrashed and panted. McCoy watched clinically. Why wasn’t the man having an orgasm? Or two? Jim should have been hitting the ceiling with it. It wasn’t working. He did have a raw patch below the knob of his penis. McCoy shook his head in wonderment. What was going on? He reset the scanner and ran over Jim’s agonized form again. These hormonal levels were dangerous. The hypospray hadn’t helped.

McCoy reached out and gently touched the rawness on Jim’s penis. He arched and gasped before reacting violently.

“You’re not the one!”

McCoy moved out of fist range fast. Jim was irrational, and McCoy didn’t blame him. If the sheets were any indication, this had been going on for hours. McCoy darted in quick and hit him with a sedative. A big one. Jim should go down and stay down. He collapsed. His penis stayed hard. McCoy found some medicated cream in his kit and applied it. Jim moaned softly.

McCoy scanned him for the third time. Jim’s body was fighting off the sedative. It would burn off within thirty minutes, and Jim would be raving again. McCoy sat down next to Jim and opened his eye. The pupil dilated. Jim mumbled and turned away.

“Who do you want, Jim?”

Jim moaned, but said nothing intelligible. McCoy reviewed all the data, cross-referenced today’s earlier physical, and ignored his friend’s tense body. That sedative should have made this impossible. McCoy had suspicions that were unfounded based on all the evidence, but the keen sense that made him a hands-on physician was telling him that this was Spock’s doing. The blood fever had spread, like a virus, into Jim’s body, and it would kill him. No human could maintain these levels of stress without dying from a heart attack, stroke, or aneurysm. The drug should have helped. It didn’t. The sedative was working temporarily, but another dose might send Jim into a coma.

McCoy glanced at the ceiling in the direction of the bridge. Where was Spock? He should be in bed, but he was a stubborn Vulcan. McCoy stood and called the bridge. Spock wasn’t there. He called Spock’s quarters. He wasn’t there. Where was he? McCoy had Uhura page the entire ship. No answer. McCoy felt tendrils of panic reached into his heart. Chekov began checking the ship deck by deck for Vulcan life signs. Jim yanked McCoy’s attention back to him. He was trying to get up.

“Jim, lay down!”

“I have to go find him.” Jim staggered and would have fallen, but McCoy pushed him back flat. It took all his strength. Jim was strong like a bull. He wasn’t fighting, not yet. Damn, this situation kept getting worse. McCoy made two decisions.

“Uhura, send security to find Spock. Ship wide alert.”

“Yes, Doctor McCoy, right away.”

“Is there anything else, Doctor McCoy,” said Scotty.

“Send a security man here with two sets of restraints.”

“What?”

“Do it, Scotty, and find that Vulcan!” McCoy banged the switch off. He tried to keep Jim down. So far, he wasn’t resisting too much, but it wouldn’t be long and he’d be running through the ship naked with a large personal problem. McCoy looked at his hypospray. It was useless. All this medical technology was useless. The door beeped, and McCoy stepped out quickly. Jim wouldn’t want anyone to see him this way. The security man held the restraints out.

“Need anything else, sir?”

“No, go find Spock. Try the botany lab.” McCoy didn’t wait. He turned and slipped back inside. Jim was sitting on the edge of the bed. His eyes were wild. McCoy avoided looking at Jim’s jutting penis. “Jim, lay down!”

“No, I have to go!”

McCoy analyzed the room and made a painful decision. It would have to be the connecting screen. Jim stood up against McCoy’s palms. He was swaying, his eyes glittered, and his mouth sagged. McCoy clicked on the security restraints. Jim didn’t even notice. He began to push his way past McCoy.

McCoy didn’t resist. Jim was much stronger. McCoy maneuvered Jim to the screen and attached the restraints to the restraints. Primitive, but it would work. Jim seemed confused at first.

“Jim, relax,” said McCoy. He moved back.

Jim pulled with all his strength, bracing his foot against it. His back bowed with the strain. McCoy stepped farther back and prayed it would hold. It was this or a pile of security men. Where the hell was Spock?

“Uhura, where’s Spock?”

“We’re all working on it, Doctor,” said Uhura.

McCoy snapped the com off. Jim was fighting desperately. It was painful to watch. McCoy cursed and paced. Neither did any good. Time was running out for Jim Kirk.

********

Spock dimly sensed the unrest on the ship. He tightened his shields. It was possible everyone was still agitated from the events on Vulcan, and he didn’t want to know about it. Humans had a word for this feeling - embarrassment. Vulcans didn’t. He clasped his hands in front of him and focused again. The sensory deprivation booth was not helping. Something was hurting him. He changed tactics, searching his shields for a crack or hole that could explain this.

Nothing, at first, and he abandoned looking outward. There it was. Inside him. A spot of pure pain. He circled it warily. What was it? The childhood bond with T’Pring was gone. This was in its place.

He reached and jerked away. Pain, agony, sweat, and tears. His shields shuddered. They were crumbling from the assault within. He considered ten logical approaches to the problem, but chose one fast. Walling off the pain with an interior shield took time. The pain was slippery and smelled familiar. The interior shield took form briefly before imploding in a cascade of golden shards. His exterior shield buckled and tore. He remained calm. Panic reached him. Panic.

Spock ripped the devices from his body and pushed open the door of security locker twenty-three. He had put this here to help him deal with a ship full of emoting humans. Captain Kirk had understood and approved it on a very limited basis. Spock could taste the panic.

“Spock. Mr. Spock!”

Spock turned. “Can I help you, Ensign?”

“Doctor McCoy wants you in Captain’s Quarters -Gold Alert.”

Vulcans don’t panic. Humans do. Spock didn’t run. He raced. The pain grew. He blocked it, evaded it, and finally embraced it as the turbolift dropped him off on Deck Five. Vulcans don’t stagger. Spock stumbled, but his locomotion never failed him. The door was there.

“My God, Spock, where the hell have you been?”

Spock’s eyes crashed into McCoy’s panicked blue ones. He didn’t speak. The pain. His vision dimmed and refocused on Captain Kirk. He thrashed wildly and howled in security restraints. Spock couldn’t juxtapose the pain and the sight in front of him. McCoy pushed him.

“Go to him, Spock, or he’ll die!”

Spock flinched violently away from the touch. The pain rippled through his brain and lodged in his groin. “Get out!”

McCoy took a step forward. “No, I have to try to help.”

Spock’s hand went to the doctor of its own volition, and McCoy was gone. Spock didn’t know where, but the absence of all that emotion was a relief. His vision narrowed to the golden violence. He stepped close enough to touch but didn’t. This was his pain. It burst out of its spot in his consciousness and arced, before racing up and down his body.

“My friend, what have you done?”

Kirk threw his head back and screamed. Spock heard the echo in his mind. It was too late for logic or reasoned arguments against this. All that remained was the consummation or death. The captain’s and then his own. Spock ducked under and came up in front of his Jim. His head pushed through shackled arms. A sob, a cry, hot skin, sweet sweat, the pungent smell of pre-ejaculate, and a hoarse voice begging.

“Please. Please.”

Spock, his nostrils flaring, clasped Jim fully against him, sweating body to clean uniform.

“I am here, Jim.”

“I need something,” gasped Jim. His body pushed, prodded, and began to move rhythmically. “Please help.”

“I’m here,” said Spock. His shields gave, and his mind embraced this bondmate. The pain and lust tore into him, and they were one. More than one. He dropped to his knees, his uniform absorbing sweat, and took Jim’s aching need in his mouth. Ejaculate splashed the back of his throat. Jim screamed again at the release and pumped wildly, coming again and again. Spock put his hands on Jim’s big, wet thighs and moved his mouth very little. There was no need.

“I need you.”

The voice of his beloved was raw. Spock helped Jim to orgasm again. It was simplicity itself. Jim came and buckled down to his knees. His arms pulled tight up over his head. Spock held him close, breathing in his Jim’s unique scent.

“Spock! Is he?”

Dr. McCoy’s voice jarred Spock, and he bared his teeth at the intrusion. The bond was new and fragile. It would need time to heal from this ordeal of pain.

“We will live, now, please, leave us for twenty-four hours.”

“Let me give him one hypospray. His adrenaline levels were.”

Spock interrupted, “Doctor, do it, and leave us.”

McCoy was in Spock’s sight briefly, and his presence faded away. Spock leaned his head against Jim’s shoulder, deeply inhaling.

“Is he gone?” A wretched gasp that resonated pain between them.

“Yes, Bondmate, we are alone.”

“Get rid of these cuffs.”

Spock stood up and looked at them. He didn’t have the key. It didn’t matter. He grabbed the cuffs and pulled. The connecting screen broke with a squeal. One set of cuffs hit the floor. Spock took Jim to bed. They lay together doing nothing more than breathing and touching.

“Are you?”

“Yes, I ache.”

Spock leaned up, his knee in contact with Jim’s hips. He pulled his shirts off. “Do you understand?”

“Yes and no,” said Jim. “I ache.”

“I know.” Spock pulled his boots off. Jim’s hand touched Spock’s bare back. “Breathe.”

Spock heard Jim’s efforts to comply. His breath was ragged, weak, almost as torn as his voice. Spock took off his trousers one-handed, and the other held Jim’s hand tightly. Naked, Spock eased on top of his mate. Sweat against him. It smelled good. Jim groaned from need and some emotion Spock didn’t recognize. A kiss, bodies touching, Spock made sure most of his weight was off Jim.

“I need.”

“I know,” said Jim.

Spock pushed Jim’s arms over his head, running hands down slick, trembling muscles. Flesh against hands that sensed residual pain and stress. Spock caressed and soothed. He used this time to rebuild his shield against the intrusion of the four hundred other minds on the ship. The flavor of his new bondmate who lay underneath him, exhausted and hurting for more, permeated this shield. The skin on Spock’s hands tingled. The acidic properties of Jim’s sweat ignited Spock’s senses.

“There is time.”

“I ache for it.”

Spock left the bed to retrieve lubricant. Kirk yowled like a lost, baby sehlat. His body bowed as if he’d been struck with a tass. Spock gasped from the pain. He grabbed and made haste. His hand reached and slapped onto Jim’s heaving chest. Jim sagged flat. His arms still over his head. Spock breathed for both of them.

“Jim.”

“Spock.”

Kirk’s voice scraped across Spock’s skin. No longer content with a mere hand, Spock eased his body down on Jim’s. At each point where the skin touched Spock savored the minute connections that reinforced the bond between them. Jim’s eyes shut, and Spock kissed them gently. The hazel eyes of his bondmate opened. They were full of hurt that Spock embraced and eased.

“Please, don’t ever go.”

“This will pass.”

Spock reached for Jim’s mind. Hand to face. Heart to heart. Pain, desperation, fear, a life nearly ended. Spock took it all and turned it back as trust, love, need, desire, and two lives connected forever. Jim relaxed incrementally, each muscle easing individually. Spock flowed through Jim, cementing their bond. So fragile, and so strong. Jim brought his arms down and encircled Spock.

“Key?”

“You can’t go.”

Spock comforted the moment of panic. “Later.” He kissed Jim tenderly. Their mouths sought completion. Spock felt Jim’s erection against him. Humans were resilient. Mouths and groins met. Jim’s fingers dug into Spock’s back. Each fingertip resonated need and ache. Spock controlled his urge to possess with raging force. It echoed down through the link. Jim groaned.

“Please, or it might never stop.”

“No, you are weak,” said Spock. That would be foolish in the extreme.

“I am.” Spock felt Jim gasp. “Never weak.”

Spock resisted. Jim surged up the bond and demanded his ache be eased. Spock pushed back, and Jim challenged Spock to take him.

“You wanted T’Pring. I’m not enough, am I?”

Spock’s mind thrust into Jim, showing him his error. “Do not do this.”

“I have suffered for you. You will want me.”

“I had isolated myself. The fault is mine.” Spock shoved Jim’s arms over his head again. The heady smell of Jim’s body flowed inside him. “I will not harm you further.”

Jim’s mind roared and his voice broke when he yelled, “Damn it! You owe me!”

Spock jerked back. That had inflicted pain. His carefully constructed Vulcan arguments fell to pieces. Spock did not understand Jim’s need to be seized by desire. The need burned higher and became imperative. The bond shuddered and Spock could see points unraveling. No! He reached, stroked, mended, and stitched. Jim’s raging, aching need could destroy the only thing that would satisfy him. Spock acted for the greater good of them both. He applied the lubricant, lifted Jim’s legs, and sheathed in one mind-curdling push. Jim’s broken cry of satisfaction resonated through both bodies.

“Show me that I’m yours.” Nothing more than a thin whisper.

“You will never doubt that,” said Spock. He lowered the barriers around his emotions, thrusting all inside his bondmate. Logic had no place in the frenzy. Spock heeded only his cravings for more, more, and more again. He forged a bond that could never be severed, forgotten, or brushed aside. Jim quenched the bond in his body, heart, and mind. Spock rejoiced and exulted in the strength of his bondmate.

Spock restored the structure to his emotions when the endorphin level in his body became manageable. Jim curled into Spock’s chest. He slept. The bond was strong. It would endure. Spock ran a fingertip down the length of Jim’s arm. It tingled and he brought it to his mouth to lick. Sweat tasted superior. Logically, it shouldn’t. Did Dr. McCoy’s taste good or only his bondmate’s sweat? Spock reached to the nearest com.

“Dr. McCoy, please report to Captain’s quarters and bring the key,” said Spock.

“On my way,” answered McCoy. His voice sounded strained, breathless. Spock sighed. Humans were so emotional, and the doctor more so than any other. Spock pulled a light blanket over the lower half of their bodies and sat up enough that his back was against the headboard. He’d prefer to have his uniform on, but that would necessitate leaving the bed and to do so would hurt Jim. His portion of the bond was raw from the hours of torture.

McCoy entered without waiting for permission. He was upset, and Spock reinforced his primary shield. This human poured emotion out like a waterfall on Terra, both were oblivious to the droplets that showered down on innocent bystanders.

“Spock, how is he?”

“Hurt, but he will survive. Do you have the key?” Spock put a hint of command in his voice.

“Here, I’ll do it.” McCoy took off the restraints and gave Jim the once over with his Feinberger. Spock said nothing. He watched. McCoy would not be denied this. “He’s back to normal.”

“Yes, his voice box is strained, and he is exhausted, but he will be fine.” Spock and McCoy were only fifty centimeters apart. Spock inhaled deeply. He could smell the perspiration on McCoy’s body. It did not smell good. Fascinating.

“I’ll give him one more hypospray, and then you two rest.” McCoy reached in his medikit. “Care to tell me how the hell this is possible for my medical report.”

“The mind is the most powerful tool for healing.” Spock probed Jim lightly. His sleep was deep and dreamless. “And illness.”

“You’re telling me that this was all his doing?”

“I said nothing of the sort,” said Spock. “The blood fever is not a contagion.”

McCoy put the hypospray back in the kit. “I’m putting you both on the sickbay roster for two days. Don’t leave this room, and I won’t make you go there.”

“Yes, Doctor McCoy, that is perfectly acceptable.” Spock raised an eyebrow. “You might consider sleeping, as well.”

“I’ll get there. I still don’t understand it.” McCoy touched Jim casually. Spock suppressed a growl at the intrusive doctor. “His estrogen levels are still up a bit, but they’ll drop naturally.”

“Take the restraints with you, Doctor, and thank you,” said Spock.

“I know a dismissal when I hear one,” grumbled McCoy, “and you’re welcome.”

Spock put his hand where McCoy’s had been on Jim and caressed the skin, removing the doctor’s scent traces. “I apologize for striking you.”

“I’ll have my revenge. Your yearly physical is next week. Haven’t you heard?”

“I had a physical yesterday,” said Spock. “It is illogical to have another.”

“You’ll report. Your new bondmate will insist,” said McCoy.

McCoy smiled. It seemed smug to Spock. This conversation was not appropriate for two senior officers to be having. “My wife will do as he’s told.”

McCoy’s eyes bulged most satisfactorily. His mouth falling open made it even more pleasing. Spock lifted his eyebrow. McCoy began muttering and retreated out the door. Spock allowed a smile to occupy his face for one point two seconds.

“Your wife, huh?” The croak of Jim’s voice was barely audible.

“Between that statement and your estrogen levels, he’ll be occupied for a week,” said Spock. “We will have privacy.”

“Spock, why did this happen? I admit to some confusion myself. Estrogen levels aside.” Jim turned to rest his head on Spock’s chest, draping an arm over him. Spock made sure his bondmate was comfortable, and they were touching in the important places.

“I believe that you broke my bond with T’Pring prior to your ‘death.’” Spock spread his hand and touched Jim’s back. He could feel all of Jim’s emotions. They were crisp and sweet, like apples slices. “We formed a ragged bond at the moment I killed you. When it was ignored, even denied, you didn’t react well.”

“You do have a talent for understatement,” said Jim. “I still ache.”

“There is time.” Spock analyzed and categorized the feelings. They were fresh, raw, interesting, and changing from moment to moment. Fascinating. “There is no going back.”

Jim’s eyes shut, and his breathing evened out. “Maybe a little pon farr rubbed off on me.”

Spock didn’t answer the whisper. Jim was asleep again. He would be drifting in and out of it for a minimum of twenty-four standard hours. It was curious. There were no recorded instances of human pon farr. Humans did not have the proper blood chemistry. Jim was fully human. Spock settled down to rest. He’d analyze the medical reports when he reported back to duty.

********

McCoy slugged back a dollop of Romulan Ale. Even in small amounts, the stuff was potent. He tossed the pad at his desk. Captain Kirk would be fine. And Jim? He’d gotten what he’d wanted all along. McCoy had always known that Jim was inclined to throw a temper tantrum when he didn’t get his way, but this was ridiculous. Why not just ask the big elf instead of raising such a fuss?

He rubbed his eyes and headed for his bunk. Estrogen levels? Wife? He needed some sleep. Those two were going to be twice as hard to deal with now. McCoy smiled and wiggled to comfortable. They deserved each other. Both of them were hardheaded, stubborn, opinionated, and impossible. This was going to be quite a show, and he had a ringside seat.


End file.
